


Happily Ever After

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Future Fic, Jack and Bitty aren't married so maybe an AU?, M/M, alternating pov, learning to adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Bitty expected everything to be perfect once he graduated and moved in with Jack. So why is everything so hard?
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 75
Kudos: 259
Collections: Going Out With A Big Bang 2020





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ably and lovingly beta'd by Leahelisabeth and Maddie (beacon911 on tumblr and AO3).  
> Check out tangotrangredi’s lovely [artwork](https://tangotangredi.tumblr.com/post/615521312535969792/happily-ever-afterrated-teen-upwritten-as-part)!

Bitty squinted at the light leaking in around the shades and groaned.

If the sun was up, he was late for work. Again.

He sat up and reached for his phone, steeling himself for the angry messages his manager no doubt had left him.

Nope, nothing. Not even a text from Jack after his game last night. Or one wishing him good morning, because Jack was in Raleigh so he was definitely up at … 8:30. Crap. He was already two hours late.

He called the bakery manager, wondering what excuse he could use this time.

_My boyfriend is away and without someone to make me get up I just turn my alarm off and go back to sleep_

True, but not likely to inspire sympathy.

_I don’t like mornings_

Also true, but possibly even more unhelpful.

_I don’t know what I’m doing with my life_

As he waited for Karen to pick up, he looked around the room. There was laundry piled in the corner next to the hamper — he hadn’t washed anything since Jack left a week ago. He’d have to get on that, with Jack coming home after the game tonight. 

Jack’s clothes from the dresser — clean at least — were piled on the chair. Bitty had been appalled when he realized Jack had no paper lining the drawers, not since Jack bought the dresser when he moved in, and Bitty planned to do something about it while Jack was on his roadie. Which would last approximately eighteen more hours. He still had time.

But he also had the dishes stacked next to the bed …

Finally the ringing stopped. Voicemail. Probably Karen was working the counter, where Bitty should be. Fuck.

Bitty made himself smile before speaking, hoping to sound cheerful and sorry at the same time.

“Hi, Karen! This is Eric. I am _so_ sorry. I was sure I set my alarm last night, but I guess I slept through it. I’ll be in as soon as I can!”

He was brushing his teeth when his phone rang. 

He spat without rinsing and answered.

“Hello?”

“Eric, this is Karen —”

“I’m really sorry — ”

“You said that in your message, and the last time you were late, and the time before,” she said. “Listen, don’t come in today. Think about whether you really want this job. Because I need someone who will show up, and show up on time. I like you, and the customers love you, and you’re a really talented baker, but if you can’t do that …”

“I know,” Bitty said. “I get it. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in? I can stay late.”

“No,” Karen said. “I mean it. Think about what you want.”

Bitty took a breath in and blew it out.

“I want the job,” he said. “I know I do. I’ll do better.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Karen said. “There won’t be a next time.”

“I understand,” Bitty said.

He put the phone on the vanity counter and crawled back under the covers, burying his face in the pillow so he couldn’t see the mess around him.

“This,” he told himself, “is my happily ever after.”

He woke again, bleary-eyed, two hours later.

Once he found his phone, still next to the bathroom sink, there were a series of messages from Jack.

_Hope you’re having a good day! See you tonight!_

_Bitty?_

_Don’t mean to bother you at work, but let me know you’re ok. Haven’t heard from you since yesterday_

_Gonna call the bakery. Maybe your phone’s dead_

_Karen told me you’re not there. What’s up?_

_Bits?_

_??_

_I’m calling Lardo_

Shit. Now Jack was worried. That was the last thing he needed on a game day. The last message had been sent not five minutes earlier; maybe Bitty could get back to Jack before Jack got Lardo to leave her job to check on him.

 _I’m home. I just overslept,_ he texted Jack.

The typing bubble popped up and then disappeared before his phone rang.

“Hi, Jack.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, I promise.”

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” 

“I was sleeping.”

“You slept until eleven?”

“No, I woke up at 8:30,” Bitty said. “But then Karen told me not to bother coming in, so I went back to bed.”

“You’re sure you’re alright? You’re not sick?”

Really, what could Jack do if he was sick anyway?

“I’m fine. Promise.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “I’m gonna get lunch and take a nap. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”

“It’s okay,” Bitty said. “I don’t have work tomorrow.”

“Still.”

“Do I need to call Lardo too?”

“That might be a good idea,” Jack said. “I told her you texted, but she was worried.”

“I swear y’all are worse than my mama.”

“We care about you.”

“I know,” Bitty said. “Love you. Get some sleep.”

“Love you too, bud.”

* * *

Jack put the phone down and turned to get in line for lunch.

“Everything okay with B?” Tater asked.

“He’s fine,” Jack said. “Didn’t go to work because he overslept, then went back to bed.”

“Not a morning person, is he?” Marty asked.

“Never has been,” Jack said. “When I used to wake him up at 4:30 to teach him to take a check, he hated me.”

“I see it,” Tater said “You and B alone in a dark rink, you push him up against the boards. No wonder you fall in love with him. Cute boy, hockey, everything you like.”

“I just said he hated me,” Jack said.

“At first,” Tater said. “But that changed, yes? You take him in your arms, he looks up at you, and he says, ‘Oh, Jack.’”

Thirdy, who’d joined the line after Jack, gave a sly grin and said, “And then you taught him all about stick handling?”

“That’s enough,” Marty said, glancing at Jack’s burning face. “I think it’s amazing that he ever warmed up to you after that.”

Jack shrugged,’”I was trying to help him. It worked. Eventually.”

Jack sat with his plate of grilled chicken, vegetables and brown rice.

“I don’t know,” he said. “He’s never been afraid of hard work. Even if it’s hard to get him to do it at first. I don’t really know what’s going on with him now. It’s like he just doesn’t care about anything anymore.”

He didn’t say, _Including me._

Bitty did text again before the game, to wish Jack luck, and after the game, to say Jack played well, despite the overtime loss.

By the time Jack let himself into the condo, it was after two in the morning, and he hoped Bitty was sleeping. Even if he didn’t have to work in four hours, Bitty wouldn’t do himself any favors by staying up most of the night. He needed a regular sleep schedule. Jack would have killed for a regular schedule, but with the season in full swing … well, better just to say he wanted to wait as long as possible until he could sleep from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. every night.

Besides, if Bitty was asleep, Jack didn’t have to worry about him noticing Jack’s limp.

His groin was just sore after the game, not pulled, certainly not torn. And it was getting better since the original pull, what, almost six weeks ago. But it helped to not have to worry about walking straight.

The lamp in the living room was on, and the light over the kitchen sink, where a lone water glass was turned upside down, waiting to be washed in the morning. The indicator light on the dishwasher was on — it was on the dry part of the cycle, so Bitty couldn’t have gotten to bed more than an hour or so earlier.

Jack stopped outside the closet that housed the washer and dryer to unload his dirty laundry directly into the machine. No point to spending more time futzing around in the bedroom, and probably waking Bitty. But the washer still had wet clothes in it, and the clothes in the dryer were still warm. How late had Bitty been up?

Jack folded the clothes in the dryer into the basket next to the machine, moved the clothes from the washer into the dryer, and started a load with his socks, underwear and T-shirts and track pants from the roadie. 

He finally turned off the lights, taking a breath and enjoying the quiet. Then he slipped into the bedroom and tried to undress with as little noise as possible.

It didn’t work. Maybe Bitty wasn’t quite sound asleep, or maybe Jack’s belt made more noise than he thought when the buckle clinked against the hook, but Bitty sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

“Welcome home,” Bitty said.

“Glad to be here,” Jack said. “Go back to sleep.”

“In a minute,” Bitty said. “I finished your drawers. Look.”

“My dra … Oh, right, the paper,” Jack said, pulling open a drawer for fresh boxers and a T-shirt. “Nice. I’m gonna rinse off in the shower.”

If Bitty was still awake when Jack slipped into the bed next to him, he gave no sign of it.

Jack settled on his back, tried not to think about how long it was since he scored, or how much longer his groin would hurt, and let sleep pull him under.

* * *

When Bitty woke the next morning, it was light out again but it didn’t matter. He had no work today, and Jack was next to him, still snoring softly. 

Bitty eased himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He missed Jack, but Jack looked so tired, even in sleep, that Bitty couldn’t bring himself to wake him. He knew the season had been rough on Jack, and he suspected Jack wasn’t quite right physically. He didn’t need Bitty pawing at him, what, less than six hours after he got home? 

That wouldn’t have stopped Bitty two years ago, or even last year, but then their time together had been so limited that they wanted to make the most of it.

With Bitty graduated and living in Jack’s condo in Providence, the need didn’t seem so urgent. Bitty felt disloyal even thinking that, but he would have felt worse interrupting Jack’s rest. After his cleaning frenzy yesterday, there was nothing to tidy in the condo, so he tugged on his running clothes, tucked his debit card in his pocket, and made sure the door closed quietly on his way out.

When he returned almost an hour later, he carried a plain black coffee for Jack and a cafe mocha for himself from the Starbucks across the street. The cost was ridiculous, especially with his job paying barely above minimum wage, but with no real expenses, he could afford it.

Jack was sitting at the kitchen island, a real honest-to-God print newspaper, a plate with a peanut butter bagel and a cup of coffee in front of him.

“You were up early,” Jack said.

“Not really,” Bitty said. “Way later than for work. But I wanted to let you sleep. And you really haven’t been running lately. I brought you coffee.”

“I made some,” Jack said.

Bitty put the cups he was carrying down anyway and moved toward the stove. “Want breakfast?”

“I ate,” Jack said.

“A bagel with peanut butter is not enough food for you,” Bitty said, pulling out a skillet. “This time of the season, I can see the weight fall off you.”

“I can eat at the training center.”

“I thought you didn’t have practice today?”

“No practice,” Jack confirmed. “Just a workout, and some meetings.”

“Meetings?” Bitty said, dicing a red bell pepper. Jack would probably eat here if there was food ready. “About what? With who?”

Jack shrugged. “Trainers. Maybe Mark.”

Mark the assistant coach. Better than Mats, the head coach, or Georgia, Bitty supposed.

“Everything okay?” Bitty asked.

He had to turn his attention from the mostly egg white omelet he had in the skillet to see Jack’s silent nod.

“What do you have on for today?” Jack asked. “A vlog post or something?”

“If that’s your way of asking if your freezer’s gonna be full of pie when you get home, no,” Bitty said. “Well, probably not. I don’t know. Errands, I guess. I can go to the cleaner if you want.”

“Sure.”

“Know what you want for dinner?” Bitty said. “I can make a grocery run too. Maybe a pie. I’ll see how I feel.”

It was Jack’s turn to ask, “Everything okay?”

Bitty set the two plates down and sat across from Jack.

He shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “Karen basically put me on notice and told me to think about whether I really want my job.”

“Do you?” Jack asked.

“Of course,” Bitty said. “I need to have a job.”

“Not really,” Jack said, like it was self-evident. The whole world knew he made more than enough money to support the two of them.

“Yes, really,” Bitty said. “I can’t just sit home and make pies all day.”

“Why not?” Jack said. “It worked for you at Samwell, didn’t it?”

“Hush,” Bitty said.

“Fine,” Jack said. “What’s the problem with this job? You bake and talk to people at a bakery. You’re good at that.”

“I’m not good at getting there on time,” Bitty said. “I’m not always good at the money part, and last week I spoiled a batch of macarons by leaving out the vanilla, so somehow I’m not even good at the baking part when I’m there. Anyway, I feel like I’m a glorified cashier most of the time, unless Karen needs help in the kitchen. Then I go and screw it up.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Jack said.

Jack wavered unsteadily for a moment when he stood up. 

“All right?” Bitty said.

“Foot went to sleep,” Jack said. “It’s fine.”

* * *

Jack’s workout wasn’t long, but it was challenging; at this stage of the season, the conditioning coaches wanted the players to maintain muscle mass and strength without depleting their resources too much.

After Jack showered, he headed for the trainer’s office and took the last remaining chair.

“So how long has your groin been bothering you?” Kevin, the head trainer, said.

“I never said —”

“I know you never said, and that’s part of the problem,” Kevin said. “But first let’s deal with this. How long?”

Crap. 

“Six weeks, give or take,” Jack said,

“Pens game?” Mark asked. “When you took that fall and almost did the splits in the third?”

“Yes.”

“And you told Kevin and Mats and me that you were fine?” Mark went on.

Jack didn’t answer.

“Right, then,” Kevin said. “I’m guessing it’s not too bad, or you wouldn’t have been able to hide it this long.”

“I can skate on it,” Jack said. 

“Not as well as you could when it wasn’t injured,” Mark said.

“It’s getting better,” Jack insisted. 

“Maybe, but you’re not skating the way you did before,” Mark said. “You know — we all know — you’ve lost some speed, and your balance is off, and that’s affected the shots you’re taking.”

“I know I’m not where I was, but I still have some of the best possession numbers —”

“Relax,” Kevin said. “No one’s saying you can’t play.”

“You can’t play like you should be able to,” Mark said. “But we need you, even if half-speed is all you can manage. Kevin says that if you haven’t torn it, and you don’t pull it again, it shouldn’t get worse.”

“We are going to have you take some maintenance days, have you work with PT to learn some exercises to strengthen the groin,” Kevin said. “And ice after games, and ibuprofen.”

Jack nodded.

“Mats is going to want to meet with your line to talk about how this changes our tactics,” Mark said. “We can’t have your linemates waiting for you to lead the rush like this.”

Of course. Of course his lineys would need to know. And the whole D corps. Everyone was going to know, and Jack was never going to hear the end of it. He knew what it would be like, people talking about what he had been doing to hurt himself. With his boyfriend. Because no one else on the team — no one else in the league — had a publicly acknowledged boyfriend.

“I know,” Jack said, but he was already cringing. He was going to get chirped to hell and back, and he didn’t think he could rightly complain. Jokes about sex were a staple in every locker room he’d been in since before he properly knew what sex was. 

“If you know, why didn’t you say something when it happened?” Mark asked. “Maybe we would have had you sit a game or two, but you would have been back to 100 percent. I’d sit you now, even though Kevin doesn’t think that would help at this late date, just to make sure you get the point, but we need you in the lineup.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Jack said. “I thought it would get better faster than this.”

“All due respect,” Kevin said, “you need to come to me when you’re hurt. Let me be the judge of how bad it is. You meet with the physical therapist before morning skate tomorrow. Plan on seeing her every day we’re home. She’ll give you exercises for the road, and I’ll supervise. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jack said.

When he got back to his locker stall, there was a text from Bitty.

_Dropped off your cleaning and picked up your other suits. Thinking that maybe I will make a pie. How was your meeting?_

Crap. Jack was going to have to tell Bitty now, too. There was no way Bitty wouldn’t find out if the team knew. Marty told Gabby everything — Jack thought knowing that actually helped keep a lot of the team from doing anything too stupid — and she’d mention it to Bitty and if Bitty found out third-hand that Jack had been playing hurt, he’d be livid. He’d be livid even if Jack told him, probably. If anyone else did, he’d be incandescent.

 _Mark wanted to talk about my play. Tell you about it when I get home,_ Jack texted back, because telling Bitty over text was probably a cop-out.

 _Is everything ok?_ Bitty replied immediately.

Jack didn’t know how to answer that in a way that was honest but wouldn’t worry Bitty. _Yes_ was not true, _No_ would make him think things were worse than they were.

 _Pretty much,_ Jack finally said. _Nothing for you to worry about._

* * *

Bitty decided against a pie. Bread would be better today. Jack’s favorite honey wheat, which he could knead by hand and work some of his frustration out.

“Bread?” Jack said, after dropping his bag and leaving his shoes at the door.

Bitty only hummed in response and said, “So what’s wrong?”

“Kevin and Mark called me in because they want me to do some physical therapy,” Jack said.

Bitty paused his push-fold-turn rhythm to look at Jack, but he dropped his eyes to the dough again before speaking.

“Physical therapy for what?” he said.

“I kind of tweaked my groin,” Jack said.

“In the game last night?” Bitty asked.

“Uh, no. A while ago,” Jack said. “But they noticed that it was changing the way I skated.”

“A while ago,” Bitty huffed.

He looked at the dough again, looked at Jack, looked at the ceiling, looked back at Jack.

“Pens game?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“And it’s still bothering you?” Bitty said. 

“Yeah.”

Bitty turned back to his dough, shoving it across the board, folding it over, turning it and shoving it again. He was going to have to stop kneading; the dough was ready and doing any more would overwork it. He turned his back on Jack to fetch a large bowl from the cupboard, and he stayed there while he oiled the inside.

“That’s why you’ve been off balance so much, like this morning?” he said.

“Yes.”

“And limping after games?”

“Yes.”

Bitty turned back around to put the dough in the bowl to rise.

“And you didn’t think you could tell me?” Bitty said. 

“Bitty — Bits — I just got this from Mark and Kevin,” Jack said.

“Because you should have told them, too,” Bitty said. “It’s their job to keep you healthy and do what’s best for the team. But I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about you not telling _me.”_

“I know I probably should have,” Jack said. 

“Probably?” Bitty mouthed, but didn’t say out loud.

“I should have told you, and Kevin,” Jack said. “But I didn’t think it was that bad at first, and I didn’t want to get pulled from the lineup for something that was nothing.”

“I can’t pull you from the lineup,” Bitty said.

“No, I know,” Jack said. “I didn’t want you to worry. You have your own stuff going on, and I didn’t want to add to it.”

“You mean my just-above-minimum-wage, entry-level job at a bakery?” Bitty said. “Like that takes up so much of my attention I couldn’t spare any for my boyfriend, who actually had a problem that I might know something about?”

“No,” Jack said, but Bitty wasn’t convinced. “Just, you don’t really come to me with your work problems, do you?”

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me,” Bitty said. “My work problems are giving the wrong change and forgetting to follow Karen’s recipes, which you can’t help with. I have actually played hockey — I captained the same college team you did, in case you forgot — and, more to the point, I figure skated for years before that. I know something about playing, or skating, hurt. And even if I didn’t, if I’m your partner, you should share important stuff with me.”

With that, Bitty set the time for the dough to rise and stalked into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Lord, what had he just done? 

Bitty sat on the bed, hunched his shoulders and tried to breathe. He had picked a fight with his boyfriend (his loving, sweet, dorky, generous boyfriend, whom he loved very much) over said boyfriend not telling him about something? Something said boyfriend was probably in denial over anyway? What right did he have to call Jack out when he couldn’t manage to get up in time for work, when he papered and reorganized Jack’s drawers but crammed his dirty laundry back into his own because he ran out of time to wash it, when he was almost a year out of college and still had no idea what to do with his life?

Jack was way ahead of him on that front, at least. Jack had known what he wanted to do since the first time his father tied skates on his feet and set him on the ice.

But … but Jack kept acting like Bitty having a job wasn’t important (like what Bitty did all day wasn’t important) because Jack’s money could take care of the two of them. If that was the case, wasn’t Jack’s career very much Bitty’s business? Didn’t Jack trust him? Why didn’t Jack give him the respect of telling him what happened? Bitty could have told him groin strains linger if you don’t rest them right away. Katya had been very clear on that when Bitty complained about missing a competition over a simple pulled muscle.

Ugh. He didn’t even know who he was mad at anymore.

He picked up his phone from where it sat on the bed next to him and scrolled through his call history.

“Lardo?”

“Hey, Bits, what’s up?” she said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight. Jack’s home, isn’t he?”

“We had a fight,” Bitty said.

“Are you okay?” Lardo said. “Where are you?”

“I’m fine,” Bitty said. “I mean, I didn’t run out of the house or anything. I’m in the bedroom. I left him in the kitchen.”

“Damn. I always thought you’d claim the kitchen in any division of rooms,” Lardo said.

“Hush,” Bitty said. “We argued in the kitchen and I stormed out, like the dramatic boy I am. It seemed easier than ordering him to leave.”

“By easier, you mean possible?”

“Something like that,” Bitty said.

“Do you want to tell me what the fight was about?” Lardo said. “You want me to come down there and kick his ass? You want me to just hang on the phone with you for a while?”

“I probably can’t say exactly what it was about,” Bitty said. He trusted Lardo, but then Jack hadn’t even trusted him with the news of his injury. “It’s Jack’s to tell. Just, he didn’t tell me something I thought he should’ve, until he kind of had to. And I was already kind of pissy because it turns out I’m a disaster gay, not the mom friend like I thought. If I don’t quit my job this week, I’ll probably get fired soon anyway, and he doesn’t even care. I don’t care either, really — about the job, I mean — but I feel like he should care how I feel.”

Bitty stopped to sniffle.

“Lord, I’m talking in circles.”

“No, you’re not,” Lardo said.

“And I can’t even keep the condo clean, and Jack won’t eat half of what I cook — he always wants to eat with the team — and I haven’t made a pie just for fun for ages, because he won’t eat any, and I end up throwing half of it out,” Bitty continued. “And I don’t know how to make any of it better.”

“Oh, Bits,” Lardo said. “Feel free to send any excess pie our direction. There’s one problem down.”

“Seriously, what do you do when you and Shitty fight?”

“Who said we fight?” Lardo said. 

Bitty stayed quiet, because he knew they fought. She’d made her share of calls like this.

“Fine,” she said. “After I talk to you, I try to get a little distance, just some time and space to cool off and try to put whatever happened in perspective. That gives Shitty time to cool off too, and to remember that he can’t yell over me before we try to talk about whatever the issue is again.”

“Like, physically, leave?”

“The room, at least,” Lardo said. “I tend to go to my studio so I can work on whatever, maybe even plan a new piece if it’s something I think will translate. It helps me detach a little. But I don’t know if that would work for you.”

“How does Shitty react?” Bitty said.

“He’s used to it,” Lardo said. “From even before we were dating. Usually by the time I’m ready to talk, so is he. Unless I end up in the art zone for weeks, in which case he comes to check on me and brings me food.”

“Dang. I’m wishing I had a studio now,” Bitty said.

“Which takes me back to my original comment,” Lardo said. “I always thought you’d keep possession of the kitchen.”

Bitty giggled, a little ruefully. “I guess that would have been a good idea.”

Jack hadn’t come looking for Bitty by the time he got off the phone with Lardo. He hadn’t knocked, and the bedroom door wasn’t locked anyway, so there was nothing stopping him from coming in. Maybe he was just giving Bitty some cooling-off time. But Bitty was ready to give him an apology, for storming off at the very least. Besides, he needed to check on the bread.

Bitty opened the door and walked quietly down the hall, but when he peered in the kitchen, Jack wasn’t there. Not in the living room either, or the spare bedroom, or the guest bath.

His yellow sneakers weren’t by the front door. Jack had left.

* * *

Jack had waited in the kitchen for five minutes, then ten. When the bedroom door showed no sign of opening, he thought about knocking, but when he stood just outside, he could hear that Bitty was talking to someone. Someone who did not make him angry enough to hurtle out of the room and slam the door behind him. Someone who was not Jack.

Maybe Jack should give him more time. His sneakers and jacket were by the door where he left them, so he slipped them on and let himself out. He rode the elevator downstairs, crossed the lobby, and set off at a measured jog. For about half a block, when his groin twinged and he remembered he had physical therapy in the morning. He probably shouldn’t run through the streets without their okay.

He pulled up and walked, headed for the river, and tried to unknot all the unpleasant feelings that tangled up in his mind. There was guilt, definitely, for not telling the team and not telling Bitty. There was worry — the maybe unrealistic anxiety that his muscles would never sort themselves out and this would be as good as he would ever be again, and that he had scored his last NHL goal nine games ago and no more would be coming, and that the team would want to trade him, and how could he ask Bitty to start over somewhere like Winnipeg? Which was a perfectly fine city, if you didn’t mind temperatures at minus-15 all winter and having to live in Manitoba.

But why should it be hard for Bitty to move, especially if it was to a pleasant city, like Vancouver or Minneapolis? It wasn’t like Bitty had a blossoming career in Providence. He was always complaining about his job, how making things at the bakery, using the bakery’s recipes, wasn’t like baking on his own, and how boring and stifling he found it. Enough that he had a hard time getting up for his early shifts if Jack wasn’t there to roll him out of bed. Jack didn’t see why Bitty didn’t just quit if he hated it so much, rather than making the owner fire him. It seemed so simple.

Then the way Bitty had gotten angry at him over being injured — Jack didn’t expect Bitty to play nursemaid, but he could have been at least a little concerned. Yes, there was a definite thread of both annoyance and even anger threaded through that knot.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Shitty.

“What’s the news, Jackabelle? Lardo just got off the phone with your charming other half and said there appears to be trouble in paradise.”

“Yeah, we’re having a fight,” Jack said.

“Right this minute?” Shitty said. “I thought you were talking to me.”

“We had a fight,” Jack said. “I — kind of screwed up by keeping some information to myself that he thought I should have told him.”

“Okay,” Shitty said.

“And he kind of rode me about it, and I got annoyed,” Jack said. “I’m not sure what more he wants from me, and he’s so busy complaining about his job that he didn’t even notice I was hurt —”

Jack hadn’t meant to say that.

“Was that the thing that you maybe probably definitely should have told him about?” Shitty said.

“Yes,” Jack said. “But I didn’t because at first I thought it was nothing. And it is nothing. It’ll heal on its own, but it’s going to need some rest, which it’s not gonna get for a while. I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention it to anyone.”

“My lips are sealed,” Shitty said. “But if that’s that — he knows what there is to know now — why don’t you two crazy kids kiss and makeup and have crazy makeup sex while you’re at it.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “It doesn’t feel like this is over. He’s just been really …”

“Really what, brah?”

“I don’t know. I want to say he’s been annoying lately, but that doesn’t seem fair. Or difficult. Just not really happy, no matter what I do.”

“And you’ve been a proper ray of sunshine, have you?” Shitty asked.

“That’s not …” Jack stopped. What he was about to say was, “That’s not my job,” but he realized before the words came out of his mouth what Shitty would say to that.

“I’m trying,” he amended. “But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“It’s not all on you, Jack,” Shitty said. “Seems to me that if it’s going to get fixed, you’re gonna have to do it together.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, suddenly feeling sick. Because Shitty was right — _if_ it got fixed. That wasn’t a guarantee.

“So tell me about the injury. It can’t be too bad unless it happened last night, because you played,” Shitty said.

“No, I did play,” Jack said. “But not really well enough. It’s just a tweaked groin. On my left. Trainer says I can keep playing, but I need some PT and we’re going to have to change some of our plays up.”

“You’re okay with that?” Shitty said. 

“I kind of have to be,” Jack said. “Look, Shits, I should probably head home. Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime, brah,” Shitty said. “Wait — where are you? I thought you were home.”

“I came out for a walk,” Jack said. “By the river. The water helps.”

“Cool. But Bitty’s probably getting worried.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. 

Still, Bitty hadn’t called or texted to check on him. 

Jack stowed the phone in his pocket and turned towards his building.

* * *

When Jack got home for the second time that evening, Bitty was back in the kitchen, rolling out a pie crust in silence. The bread dough was in two loaf pans, set aside for its second rise before baking. 

“There you are. I was starting to wonder where you got to,” Bitty said.

Jack’s expression was blank for a moment before he said, “I went for a walk.”

Bitty nodded. “I guess you needed some space,” he said. “I did too, though I apologize for storming out of the kitchen.”

“That’s okay,” Jack said, although Bitty thought from his tone that maybe it wasn’t. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my groin hurt.”

Jack still sounded disgruntled, so Bitty tried to stifle his snicker, but it just turned into a snort.

“See?” Jack said. “I can hear the chirps already, and that’s just from the team. Imagine what the media will say, and people on the Internet.”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty said. ”I thought it was funny because I of all people should know if your groin hurts.”

He paused.

“Wait — is that why you haven’t wanted to have sex as much? Because you’re in pain?”

“Bitty, I still want to have sex with you,” Jack said.

“But we haven’t been having as much sex,” Bitty said. “I guess I thought you were annoyed because I was preoccupied with everything else.”

“And I just thought you were preoccupied,” Jack said. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed. Coming?”

“Not for a while yet,” Bitty said. “The bread has to go in the oven in a few minutes, and once I put this pie together, I’ll have to bake it.”

“You have work in the morning, don’t you?” Jack said. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I will,” Bitty said. “As soon as I’m done.”

* * *

Jack shook his head and went to get ready for bed. Maybe if Bitty was baking again, that was a good sign? He’d always baked when he was upset or stressed (and when he was happy, and when he was bored, and when he was tired …). Maybe this was a sign of a return to his usual sunny boyfriend.

Bitty wasn’t sunny the next morning when Jack jostled him awake. “Bitty! Bitty, it’s 5:30 and you have to be at work in an hour. Your alarm’s been going off for the last fifteen minutes.”

“Five more minutes,” Bitty mumbled into his pillow.

“You want to be late again?” Jack said.

“No,” Bitty said, heaving out a sigh and sitting up. “I’m going.”

Jack was fiddling on his phone when Bitty emerged from the bathroom.

“Not getting up?” Bitty asked.

“I don’t have anything until physical therapy at nine,” Jack said. “Before morning skate. I can’t run or anything until after that.”

“Oh,” Bitty said. “I’m sorry I woke you, then.”

“It’s fine,” Jack said. “I’ll go back to sleep when you leave.”

If he went back to sleep now, there was half a chance Bitty would crawl back in bed.

“You could just quit!” Jack called as Bitty let himself out of the condo.

Then he did go back to sleep for another two hours, woke groggy and sore, and dragged himself into the shower and clothes to meet the physical therapist.

That meeting went better than he expected; she reiterated Kevin‘s advice of post-game ice and ibuprofen, and she explained that she’d give him some exercises to balance out the muscles in his legs to better support the joint. In the meantime, light jogging was fine. Just hearing her say it made him feel better.

Then the line rushes at morning skate seemed to work better than they had for a while, with him hanging behind his wingers as they hurried up ice. He worked more as a playmaker than shooter this way; with any luck, it would work in games. 

He was home and napping before Bitty was due back from work.

When he woke, he saw the signs Bitty had been there — laptop on the coffee table, flour-covered T-shirt in the hamper, peanut butter and jelly sandwich on fresh honey-wheat bread on the counter — but Bitty was nowhere to be found.

Jack dressed and waited for Bitty to come home from the store or wherever it was he’d gone. When Bitty still wasn’t there and Jack couldn’t wait any longer, he texted, _I have to leave for the game now. Are you coming to the arena tonight?_

There was a return text when he pulled into the players’ parking lot twenty minutes later.

_Not tonight. I have some things to take care of. Good luck! Love you, sweetpea!_

Jack harrumphed a bit — he always played better when Bitty was in the crowd — but the text didn’t sound like Bitty was upset with him. What came up to keep him from the game? It didn’t really matter.

The game was … okay. Jack tried to pay attention to his form as he skated, tried to set up his teammates as much as he could. He didn’t score, but had two assists, one on Poots’ sneaky shot in the first and one on Tater’s booming slap shot from the point in the second. They won, 4-2, and Jack sat with ice on his groin afterward and endured more jokes about blue balls than any human should ever be subjected to.

After a short post-game workout closely monitored by Kevin, he headed home, looking forward to food, maybe even a small slice of yesterday’s pie, and crawling into his own bed not too long after midnight.

The condo looked a lot like it did when he got home after the last roadie. It looked like Bitty had tidied and left a few lights on before going to bed. But it was early, at least for Bitty. Maybe he was trying to get on a more reasonable schedule?

Instead of baked goods, there was a page torn from Bitty’s kitchen notebook on the counter.

_Dear Jack,_

_I’m going home to Georgia for a few days. I guess I have to tell you that Karen let me go today, so I’m kind of at loose ends, and Mama reminded me how long it’s been since I visited her and Coach and MooMaw. I found a really cheap last minute flight, so I decided to head down there._

_Sorry to not be here when you get home. I won’t call when I land — it’ll be really late — but you can tell me all about it tomorrow._

_Love,_

_Bitty_


	2. Part 2

Bitty cleared his meager belongings out of the cubbyhole at the bakery and contemplated his next move.

He’d never been fired from a job before. Not that he’d had many jobs. And Karen was clear that he wasn’t actually being fired, just that if he didn’t agree to leave, he would be fired in short order, and not be able to use her as a reference.

So he put his phone charger and extra shoes in a box, and let himself out the back door for the last time.

He wanted to go home and crawl into Jack’s arms and have a good cry. He wanted to be held and kissed and coddled and told that he was wonderful and Karen was crazy not to see it.

But when he let himself into the condo, it had the hush that meant Jack was sleeping. Bitty set his box on the counter and went to peer into the bedroom.

Jack was there, lying curled on his side, sound asleep, seemingly at peace. Bitty resisted the urge to sit next to him on the bed and brush that floppy curl off his forehead; Jack needed his beauty sleep before games, and Bitty wasn’t about to disrupt his routine.

Bitty changed his shirt, literally shaking the dust of that job off his shoulders, and took his laptop to the living room. Maybe he could plan a trip home to Georgia since work wouldn’t get in the way now. Mama had been complaining that he hadn’t visited for a while, and she’d been hinting that MooMaw wasn’t getting any younger.

Late winter fares weren’t great, but he had some money saved since Jack covered most of their living expenses. A bit of searching showed him that the best deal was actually to leave today, a last-minute cut-rate price offered in an attempt to fill a seat that still hadn’t been sold. He wouldn’t get to Atlanta until about midnight, and would likely be crammed into a middle seat in the back of the plane, but he would be there.

Leaving today was kind of a hare-brained idea, but it would be nice to wake up in Madison tomorrow, help Mama make pancakes, spend the day in MooMaw’s sunny kitchen. It probably wasn’t realistic to think he could put a trip together that fast, but it was nice to think about.

At least he could call Mama today.

First he had to make Jack’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Then he could go somewhere where he wouldn’t wake Jack if he was on the phone, and maybe Mama would tell him everything would be all right.

Sandwich made, he slipped into his jacket and out the door. He walked to the Starbucks in the next block, ordered a latte, and took a seat in the corner, as far as he could get from anyone else.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Dicky! I didn’t expect you to call today! How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he said, then felt his throat start to close and the tears start to well. “Actually … not great.”

“You’re upset,” she said. “What’s wrong? Are you all right? Is Jack all right?”

“I’m fine, really,” Bitty said, once he got the quaver out of his voice. “Jack’s okay. I … uh … I lost my job this morning.”

“Oh, honey,” his mother said. “What happened?”

“The bakery manager, she said she needed someone who would be on time,” Bitty said. “And pay more attention, she said.”

“I’ve never known you to not pay attention to a recipe,” Mama said. 

“You’ve never known me to have to make the same recipe over and over,” Bitty said. “Exactly as written, even if I think I can make it better.”

“You probably could make it better,” Mama said. “You always did like to experiment.”

“Experimenting wasn’t in my job description,” Bitty said. “It wasn’t really like baking at all. I mean, it was baking, but totally different. Like baking with all the fun parts taken out. And I guess I made that too obvious, because Karen — that’s the manager — she said we should agree to part ways now, and she’d pay me until the end of the week.”

“I guess that’s something,” Mama said. “You weren’t thinking of this as a forever job anyway, were you? And you have a roof over your head and food on the table. It’ll be alright. You’ll figure something else out, you’ll see.”

“I wish I had your confidence in me,” Bitty said, knowing he sounded whiny and childish but unable to help it. “Karen sure didn’t.”

“I do have confidence in you,” Mama said. “Jack does too, I bet. What did he say?”

“Nothing yet,” Bitty said. “I haven’t told him. He was taking his pregame nap when I got home. He has been saying for a few weeks that I should just quit, so I don’t think he’ll be upset.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Mama said. “I remember when you were a little boy, and some of my chocolate-cherry cookies would fix anything. Maybe I should send you some?”

A sudden wave of homesickness threatened to overwhelm Bitty. He hadn’t seen Mama since Thanksgiving, and until he found a job, he’d be sitting alone in an empty condo while Jack was busy with his team. 

“Would it be all right with you if I came home?” Bitty said. “Just for a few days. I was kind of looking around, and I can get a good last-minute deal if someone can come get me at Hartsfield tonight. It’ll be late, though.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Mama said. “You’re always welcome here. Can Jack come, or does he have games?”

“He can’t really get away during the season, unless it’s All Star weekend or the bye week,” Bitty said. “Like I said, I won’t stay long. I just want to recharge my batteries a bit.”

“Of course you do,” Mama said. “Everyone needs a little TLC sometimes.”

Bitty had just missed Jack when he went back to the condo, but got Jack’s text asking if he was coming to the game. He let Jack know he wouldn’t be there, but there was no way he could say anything about his job now, not with a game starting in a couple of hours.

By the time Jack hit the ice, Bitty was already on his way to the airport.

When he got off the plane, he had two texts.

From Jack: _Call me_

From Coach: _In the cell phone lot. Text when you land._

 _Landed,_ he texted his father. _Meet you outside baggage claim._

* * *

Jack stared at the note, not quite comprehending it.

He put it down, got a drink of water, and read it again, slowly.

Bitty wasn’t here. He lost his job and flew to Georgia to see his parents. He would be back in a few days.

But he didn’t say what day. 

And why was he telling Jack about his job like this, in a handwritten note that he knew would be delivered when it was too late to talk face to face? Jack had been home this afternoon. Bitty could have told him then. He could have come home and woken Jack up and said he lost his job and Jack would have been sympathetic. 

Probably.

Even if Jack was usually grumpy when he first woke up, if Bitty was upset, he would have tried.

If Bitty didn’t want to wake him, Bitty could have talked to him when he got up to go to the rink. Then Bitty could have come to the game, hung out in the family box and lounge, taken his mind off what happened at work. Instead he left the condo before Jack got up and came back after Jack left. Then he packed his bag (bags? How much did he take?) and took off for Georgia while Jack was on the ice, and he didn’t so much as text him.

Was Bitty leaving him? He signed his note “love,” and said he’d be back in a few days, but would he? 

Fuck. The team was leaving tomorrow on a three-game road trip, and there was no way Jack could go to Georgia to talk to Bitty in person.

Maybe Bitty wouldn’t want him to, if he was running away like this. Bitty always did try to avoid anything he found difficult; now it looked like he was avoiding Jack.

Jack knew he could be difficult to live with. He knew the spotlight their relationship put on Bitty had been uncomfortable, especially when he returned to Samwell to captain the team last fall. But the attention had finally started to die down, and Jack thought things were easier without a 45-minute drive separating them.

Maybe Bitty didn’t feel the same way.

He wasn’t going to let Bitty go without at least talking to him, no matter how late he landed. 

_Call me,_ he texted.

Jack wasn’t sure what flight or even what airline Bitty was on, so he couldn’t check to see if it had landed. But he figured most passenger flights would land by 1 a.m., so he would try calling Bitty then. If Bitty didn’t call him back first.

At least he didn’t have a game tomorrow. Just practice at eleven and then directly to the airport for a West Coast swing.

Jack occupied himself by trying to figure out how much Bitty had packed for his trip. His big suitcase was still in the back of the closet, so that was good, and his two suits were hanging up, as were several button-down shirts. Some might be missing, though.

His dresser drawers … were a mess. The bottom two were filled with crumpled clothes that clearly needed a wash. Why were they here and not in the hamper? Bitty’s underwear drawer was nearly empty, but, well, there was probably a week’s worth of dirty underwear stuffed in the drawers. Bitty might have grabbed whatever was left in the drawer no matter how long he planned to be gone.

Jack took Bitty’s dirty clothes to put them in the washer while he waited. He poked around the kitchen, too, but everything seemed to be in its place. Bitty wouldn’t have to take cooking or baking equipment to Madison, though. 

Then he checked the front closet. Bitty’s winter coat was gone, of course, but his skates were still there. He was coming back. Probably.

Jack had moved the first load of laundry from the washer to the dryer and put another load in to wash when the alarm on his phone told him it was time to call Bitty.

He sat down at the kitchen island, looked at a snapshot Lardo had taken of the two of them at Bitty’s graduation party, and pressed the call button.

“Jack?” Bitty’s voice was tired, but not sleepy. Not like Jack had woken him. “I was going to call you in the morning. Why are you still up? Good game, by the way. I was just watching highlights.”

“What do you mean, why am I still up?” Jack asked. “Why are you in Georgia? Why did I come home and find a note on the counter instead of my boyfriend?”

“It was just really last-minute,” Bitty said. “I got a really cheap flight, and since I don’t have work anymore, and you’ll be gone for the next week anyway … it just seemed like a good idea. Mama’s been wanting me to come down since we went to Montreal for Christmas.”

That was true. He’d overheard Bitty talking to his mother about when they might be able to visit. And if Bitty didn’t have work, there was no reason for him to hang around Providence when Jack wasn’t there. But —

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said. “I was home all afternoon.”

“You were sleeping,” Bitty said. “You need your routine. And I really didn’t think I was going to do it until I talked to Mama. I was so upset — I know you told me to quit the job and it wasn’t important, but it hurts when someone says you’re not good enough to run the register and refill the napkin dispensers — and talking to Mama made me feel better, but it also made me awful homesick. And I thought, why not? I’m a grown man, for pete’s sake, and if I want to fly to Georgia I can buy a ticket and do just that. So I did.”

“You could have told me,” Jack said. “Even if you didn’t wake me. You could have told me when I woke up. And I could have gotten you a ticket for tomorrow morning, so you wouldn’t have to do everything yourself.”

 _And been home with me tonight,_ Jack did not say. 

“I kind of just wanted to get it done,” Bitty said after a short silence. “You need to sleep, Jack, especially if you have an injury you’re trying to heal. Love you, sweetpea, and I miss you.”

“I love you too, and I miss you,” Jack said, feeling better but not entirely satisfied. 

* * *

Bitty woke to the aroma of coffee brewing and bacon frying. 

He lay in his bed for a few minutes, looking up at the shelf of figure skating trophies and ribbons over his desk, the posters on his wall. Once upon a time, this room, with its narrow bed and single window, had been the only place he could really be himself. 

That changed for the first time when he went to Samwell, and later when Jack kissed him live on TV after winning the Cup. He couldn’t regret that, even if his relationship with Mama and Coach had been rocky for a few months. 

Now he didn’t have to fold himself back behind a facade every time he came home, and, bonus, Mama and Coach both liked Jack, too. 

And Mama was already making breakfast, so he’d better get up if he wanted to eat.

“‘Morning, sleepyhead,” Mama said when he made it into the kitchen, still in pajama pants and stocking feet. “Go put some shoes on and you can take over on the bacon while I do the pancakes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said, obediently returning to his room for his slides. Mama had always insisted on shoes to cook. By the time he returned to the kitchen, Coach had taken a seat at the table and a mug of coffee with cream and sugar had appeared next to the stove.

Bitty sipped his coffee and tended the bacon, plucking strips from the skillet as their edges turned crisp and adding new ones, turning strips over as they began to color.

Mama poured batter on the griddle next to him, and they worked in companionable silence until the food was done.

“How are you, really?” Mama asked, after she served herself.

“I don’t really know,” he said, suppressing the urge to shrug. “I mean, I’m fine, obviously. I’m healthy. I have a place to live and food to eat. But I have no idea what to do next.”

Coach looked at him from over the top of the paper.

“Doesn’t seem like it should be that hard to figure out,” he said. 

Bitty poured syrup — the fake kind — over his pancakes and took a bite instead of answering.

“Well, I’m glad you decided to visit now you have time,” Mama said. “I already talked to your MooMaw this morning and she’s looking forward to having you come over. I told her we’d be there for lunch, and then you can stay and bake with her. We need to stop by the supermarket on the way, so she doesn’t have to buy the ingredients.”

It would be good to bake in MooMaw’s kitchen again. She had none of the modern conveniences — no food processor or marble pastry board, no silicone mats or fancy cutters — but it was where Bitty learned, with an old-fashioned wooden rolling pin, a double boiler made out of a saucepan and metal bowl, and a sifter that you used by pushing flour through what looked like a piece of window screen. Her stand mixer was nearly as old as Bitty’s mother, but she didn’t want to replace it.

“It still works,” she had said, when Bitty suggested buying her a new one for Christmas. “Don’t fix what’s not broke.”

“Sounds great,” Bitty said.

“So … Jack was okay with you coming down here?” Mama asked.

“He’s leaving today for a road trip,” Bitty said. “No reason for me to sit at home for a week by myself.”

“I suppose not,” Mama said. 

* * *

Jack woke late and groggy to the sound of his phone. 

Eight o’clock, his phone said. Maman, the screen said. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, but she’d only keep trying if he didn’t answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Jack,” Maman sounded wide awake. “Were you sleeping? I’m sorry. Want to call me back later?”

“No,” Jack said, sitting up. “It’s fine. I need to get up anyway.”

“Well, I hope I didn’t wake Bitty,” Maman said. “I know he likes to sleep in when he can.”

“No, you didn’t wake him,” Jack said. “Um, was there something … Is everything okay?”

“Just fine,” Maman said. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to get together for lunch or something next week.”

“I’ll be in California,” Jack said. 

“I know,” Maman said. “So will I. I have some meetings — I’m thinking about getting involved with producing something — and when I saw you had a couple of off-days in southern California, I scheduled my trip for the same time.”

Great. There were two possible days they could meet; Jack probably couldn’t put her off for both of them.

“Um, sure,” Jack said. “Tuesday for lunch, maybe? We play the Kings the next day.”

“Excellent. Just call or text Monday and let me know what time you can get away, and I’ll make arrangements. You can bring a couple of teammates if you want.”

Jack did almost smile at that.

“Maman, I’m not in college anymore,” he said. “All the guys can afford to go out for a meal on their own.”

“I know that,” Maman said. “But how else is a mother supposed to find out what’s really going on?”

“Haha. It’ll just be me.”

“Je t’aime, mon coeur,” Maman said. “Tell Bitty hello for me if you see him before you leave, or when you talk to him. Don’t forget to get in touch Monday.”

“I’ll remember,” Jack said.

After the call ended, he got out of bed and ate a bagel with peanut butter and banana and drank a glass of water. A light jog was all he could do at home, so he spent twenty minutes on the treadmill before showering, and then he watched tape of the San Jose goalie for a half-hour.

It was a relief when it was time to head for the training center, where he just had to listen to the physical therapist as she put him through his paces. He didn’t really have to think at all.

* * *

The afternoon at MooMaw’s house was easier, at least when it came to conversation. 

“Dicky! It’s so good to see you. I’m so glad you took the time to visit!”

They sat over sweet tea and chicken sandwiches while Mama and MooMaw gossiped about the church ladies, and MooMaw told Bitty about what she planned for her garden in the spring,

“Of course, I can’t get up and down like I used to,” she said. “That’s where your mother and dad have been such a big help. Did you know last year your mother was here at least five days a week, weeding and watering and whatnot?”

“That was nice of you, Mama,” Bitty said. “I’m sorry I’m not around to help more.”

He was sorry. MooMaw had changed since the last time he saw her, he realized, even though it was only a few months. She looked smaller, more frail, even if she talked just as much. He knew Mama and Coach had been helping her out, but it seemed like it was an everyday thing now, even if there wasn’t gardening to do.

“Hogwash,” MooMaw said. “You have your own life to lead, and that’s not here. And that’s just fine. Just remember to visit an old woman every once in a while. Now, were we going to make a chess pie?”

Mama left them to run errands, and Bitty found himself following MooMaw’s instructions as he cut the butter and lard into the flour, rolled and blind baked the pastry and mixed the filling for two pies.

“Listen to me,” MooMaw said. “Telling you how to do all this when I’m certain you could do it with your eyes closed.”

“I like listening to you,” Bitty said. “It reminds me of when I was just learning. Want to do some cookies while they bake? I made Mama buy the real maple syrup for this maple shortbread I do.”

“I’ll just sit right here so I can watch,” MooMaw said. 

“So the first thing we have to do is turn this syrup to maple sugar for the cookie recipe,” Bitty said, pulling a heavy saucepan from her cabinet. “You have a candy thermometer in the drawer?”

By the time Mama returned for Bitty, there were two chess pies, one for Bitty and Mama to take home and one for MooMaw to keep (“June from down the street is coming by tomorrow, and won’t she like a slice of this pie”) and a dozen wedges of maple shortbread. 

“Those’ll keep for a while in an airtight container,” Bitty said. “You can even put them in the freezer.”

“I really don’t think they’ll last that long,” MooMaw said.

Lord, that was nice. Since being in Providence, Bitty had to work to get rid of anything he baked at home. It wasn’t like he could take baked goods to his coworkers — he worked at a bakery, for pity’s sake — and Jack wouldn’t eat much more than a slice of pie a week.

Bitty had only been living in Providence a month when Jack sat him down and said, “Bitty, I’m not saying you can’t bake in the kitchen. But you have to find somewhere else to send all this stuff. Nate said one pie a month for the nook — or cake, or cobbler, whatever you want, but only once a month. And I can’t have it around here all the time.”

“Why not?” Bitty asked, suddenly seeing a pie-less future.

“Because if it’s here I’ll want to eat it,” Jack said.

Bitty didn’t believe Jack really could not have more than one small serving of something sweet every week — for one thing, the rest of the Falconers loved it when Bitty baked for team gatherings or occasions — but he loved Jack even more than he loved pie, he told himself. His production had gone way down, with most everything going to the St. Martins, the Robinsons and Tater. Which also annoyed Jack.

MooMaw, though, seemed like she could use some feeding up. Bitty could feel the bones of her back and shoulders, light as a bird’s, when he hugged her goodbye.

“How is she really?” Bitty asked his mother once they were in the car. “She’s not as active as she used to be.”

“She’s healthy enough for someone her age,” Mama said. “But she is getting older. She’s got lots of family and friends around, though. She wouldn’t want you to worry.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t,” Bitty said. “I’ll try to visit more.”

“I’m sure she’d like that,” Mama said. “You always were her favorite grandchild.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what she told all of us,” Bitty said.

* * *

“You coming to dinner, Jack?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Jack said. “Just let me call Bitty first. I’ll be there in a few.”

“You’re more married than I am,” Marty said. “You two ever going to make it official?”

“Come on,” Jack said. “Bitty’s only 22.”

“What does that matter?” Marty said. “You guys have been together forever.”

“Not really.”

“As long as I’ve known you,” Marty said. “So forever.”

“If that’s how you define it,” Jack said. “Can I ask you something, Marty?”

“Sure.”

“Has Gabby ever gone off on a trip without telling you first?”

When Marty didn’t answer immediately, Jack backtracked. “I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Marty raised an eyebrow.

“Your boy’s disappeared on you?”

“No,” Jack said. “He’s visiting his parents. His job ended and he didn’t want to just be sitting around while we were gone this week. But he left last night, and I didn’t know anything about it until I got back from the game. He said he found a good last-minute plane fare and jumped on it.”

Marty looked confused.

“He’s worried about money?” 

“He usually pays his own expenses,” Jack said. “I mean, not for the condo or anything.”

“You do know how much you make, right?” Marty said. “You could fly him back and forth to Georgia every week.”

“I know that,” Jack said. “He knows I would have paid for it. But he didn’t ask.”

“I go back to my previous question,” Marty said. “Why don’t you two just get married? Then it would be his money too.”

If only it was that easy.

“Just let me check in with him,” Jack said, “and I’ll meet you guys downstairs.”

At 6:30 in California, it would be 9:30 in Georgia. Comfortably after dinner for the Bittles, and well before Bitty would be in bed.

Jack sat on the edge of his bed and pressed the call button.

“Jack?”

“Hey, Bitty.”

“You’re settled in now?”

“For the night,” Jack said. “We leave after the game tomorrow. I’m getting dinner with Marty and a few others in a minute, but I wanted to talk to you before it got too late.”

“Is everything okay?” Bitty said. “Your leg’s not worse?”

“No, it’s fine,” Jack said. “Mari — she’s the physical therapist — said I could expect some actual improvement in a week or two. I just … I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Bitty said. “But I’m glad I came. I spent the afternoon baking with MooMaw, and I think I should try to get down here to see her more. She just seemed so much _older_ , Jack. Mama said there’s nothing really wrong, but … she was always my safe place.”

“I know, bud,” Jack said. “You know you can go any time you want. Don’t worry about the money.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Bitty said.

“I think I’m having lunch with Maman Tuesday,” Jack said. “She said to say hello to you.”

“Hello back to her,” Bitty said. “My folks have asked after you, too. Mostly asking if you were upset about me losing my job.”

“Why would I be upset about that?” Jack said. 

Bitty didn’t answer, so after a brief silence, Jack asked, “When do you think you’ll come home?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “A few days, maybe.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

* * *

“Your father was going to get a start on painting the guest room this weekend. Maybe you could help him today, if you don’t have any plans.” 

Bitty’s only plan had been to wallow in his room like a petulant teenager, but he couldn’t very well say that. At least Coach wouldn’t make him talk. Much.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said.

Bitty was grateful that he and his father got along better than they had before Bitty and Jack came out. Better than before Coach’s trip to Samwell, where they finally had it out. Bitty still didn’t understand how Coach thought he’d been being supportive. Now, at least, he knew Coach hadn’t really known how afraid Bitty was that his family would reject him.

Since that argument —and since Coach had come back the next day to resolve it, instead of just flying home — Bitty had made an effort to talk to his dad about more than football. He could tell Coach was trying, too, and Bitty finally felt like it made sense the way so many of the football boys looked up to him. He’d never been able to see it before.

When Bitty joined Coach in the guest room, he looked at the walls and considered. They hadn’t looked that bad before, but maybe the beige was a little dated? Anyway, it had to be done now, since Coach had patched a handful of fine cracks. And since the new color, a warm cream, was lighter than the old color, it looked like Coach planned to start with a coat of primer.

“You know, they make paint that you don’t have to use a primer with,” Bitty said, picking up a roller.

“Primer’s cheaper than an extra coat of the new paint,” Coach said. “And no point to getting all the way done and finding out we should have primed it first.”

They worked on adjacent walls, maneuvering around the covered furniture, careful to keep the drop cloths close to the walls so as not to drip paint on the carpet.

After a bit, Bitty shook his head. “Maybe I should try to get a job as a painter,” he said. 

“You like painting that much?” Coach asked. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s not what you went to college for.”

“Not really,” Bitty said. “I mean, I don’t _mind_ painting. I like that you can see the progress you’re making, and you can see if you’re doing a good job. See any mistakes, too, and fix them. But no, I like the painting more than the prep work, and you can’t have one without the other. Unless, you know, you just drop in on someone the day they’re ready to start painting, like I did.”

“Paint’s all on the surface,” Coach said. “Gotta get the parts underneath right first, if you want the surface to come out right.”

Bitty refilled his tray with primer and turned a corner.

He smiled wryly at the wall, and said, “Why do I feel like that’s a metaphor for something else?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Coach said. “But getting the foundations right for anything is important. It’s why we work so hard in practice for football, or for hockey or even figure skating, I guess.”

“So I should do something where I like the prep work?”

Coach glanced at him and said, “What does Jack think you should do?”

“Why is it up to Jack?”

“It’s not,” Coach said. “But he’s a smart young man, and he knows you. Better’n maybe even your mother and me. He might have some ideas.”

“If he does, he hasn’t said,” Bitty said. “Just that he thought I should quit the bakery. But he’s been going through his own stuff. I don’t want to bother him.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t trade his rookie year and the Stanley Cup and all, but it can be tough to have so much success out of the gate,” Coach said. “It’s a lot to live up to. No one has a career year every year. But even if he’s trying to figure out how to handle coming down to earth, I’m pretty sure he wants to know what’s going on with you. Might be a distraction, if nothing else.”

“He’s playing hurt,” Bitty blurted. ”No one’s supposed to know, but his groin’s been bothering him for a month and a half. He didn’t even tell me until the trainer called him on it.”

“And you thought everything was peachy until then?”

“No,” Bitty said. “I knew something wasn’t right. But I didn’t want to push and make everything worse by asking. We just — sometimes it’s hard to know how much to say to him. I don’t want him to feel like I’m sticking my nose in. I wouldn’t want to make him angry.”

“So what if he did get angry?” Coach asked. 

Bitty shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “He never has, not really.”

“You afraid he’d hurt you?” 

“No,” Bitty said, horrified. “Of course not. But maybe … I don’t know, maybe nothing would be the same.”

“You think I never get mad with your mother? Or she never gets mad with me?” Coach asked. “You two are gonna be together, you’re gonna get angry from time to time. Just gotta learn to deal with it.”

Coach paused to put down his roller and pick up a brush.

“I know everyone says you’re just like your mother,” he said. “But you have some of me in you, too, Junior. You’re a proud man. Don’t like to be seen as weak. But it’s not a weakness to ask for help, especially not from people who love you, and it’s not a weakness to take help that’s freely offered.”

Bitty finished his wall and stood back to look at it.

“I could say the same thing to Jack,” Bitty said.

“Yup.”

“You said at breakfast that my next move was obvious,” Bitty said. “What’d you mean?”

“I meant you should take the time you have — not everyone has the luxury of not having to worry about money when they lose a job — take the time you have and put that into figuring out what you want to do, then doing it,” Coach said. “Not moping.”

“Yessir.”

* * *

“Maman, it’s good to see you,” Jack said, folding her in his arms as soon as she opened the door to her hotel room.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she said. “I thought we’d just order lunch up here, if that’s all right. Might be easier that way.”

She was right, of course. Here in southern California, more people would know her than Jack, but the two of them together? The chances of them being allowed to eat in peace in a restaurant were slim at best.

Once they had ordered, she said, “So tell me what’s really going on. You don’t look like yourself playing.”

“You could tell?” he asked.

“Anyone who knows you well enough could tell,” Maman said. “Usually you look happy after a game, at least when your team wins. Lately you have your game face on even then. I learned from your father’s time playing that usually means you’re hiding something.”

“My groin,” Jack said. “I pulled something, a while ago, and it hasn’t gotten better.”

“That’s what your papa said,” Maman said. “He said it’s affected your skating form.”

“And my speed,” Jack said. “The team has me working with a physical therapist. It should improve over time.”

“Well, that’s good then,” Maman said. “At least you’re not going home to an empty flat to brood about it.”

Jack didn’t answer immediately.

“Jacky, have you been brooding?”

“Maybe. A bit,” Jack said. “Bitty was angry that I didn’t tell him what was going on.”

“Didn’t tell him?”

“Not until Kevin called me in to talk about it a few days ago and I started with the physical therapist,” Jack said. “It seemed like Bitty thought I didn’t trust him.”

“Was he right?”

“No,” Jack said, “Of course not. I just didn’t want to worry him, especially when he was so worried about his job.”

“That’s right, he was working at that bakery. How’s that going?”

“It’s not, anymore,” Jack said. “He was let go the day before we left.”

“Poor thing,” Maman said. “How’s he taking it?”

“Probably not well,” Jack said. “He went to Georgia while I’m gone this week. For a job he hated, he sure seemed to care a lot about what people there thought of him.”

“Of course he did,” Maman said. “We all want people to think well of us.”

“He didn’t seem to care that much what his professors thought,” Jack said. “I’m pretty sure they invented the gentleman’s C for him.”

“That wasn’t very kind,” Maman said.

“No, I guess not,” Jack said. “School work was always challenging for him. It was weird — he didn’t have so much trouble focusing on baking or hockey.”

“Two things where he did very well, and got plenty of recognition,” Maman said. “It’s hard to give that up.”

“What do you mean?” Jack said. “People still recognize you.”

“And they recognize Bitty, too,” Maman said. “But they recognize him as your boyfriend, not for anything he’s done. Me, they recognize as that woman who used to be a movie star, the one who won’t get off her soapboxes and give up her causes and fade away already. But it’s better than the first year we lived in Montreal and I was mostly just recognized as Bob Zimmermann’s wife.”

“You were still famous,” Jack said. “You were still making movies.”

“That might have mattered here,” she said. “But in Montreal, your papa was royalty.”

“I guess,” Jack said. “Are you saying Bitty is jealous? Because I’d give up all the celebrity stuff in an instant, as long as I could still play.”

“You’re missing the point,” Maman said, but her voice was gentle. “I doubt it’s the ‘celebrity stuff’ he wants. I’d guess it’s a sense of identity, of what sets him apart and what makes him _him._ Everyone wants to feel important.”

“He’s important to me,” Jack said.

“Apparently not enough to tell him when you were hurt.”

“Maman, that’s not fair,” Jack said.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But if you’re important to him, he’s going to want to know what you’re going through. I know I would have been upset if your father kept an injury from me.”

“I did apologize,” Jack said. 

“Thank heavens for small favors,” Maman said, then she laughed. “I’m poking fun, Jack. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just, sometimes, take off your skates and look at the world through Bitty’s eyes. If you do, you’ll see how much he adores you. And how vulnerable that makes him.”

“I adore him, too,” Jack said. “Doesn’t that make me vulnerable?”

“Of course, but it’s not quite the same, is it? He moved into your life, not the other way around.”

* * *

Bitty was surprised to find a basket of apple hand pies on Katya’s desk when he went to the rink to say hello.

“Who made these?” Bitty said, picking one up and examining it. It looked … pretty close to right. The pastry was a bit thick, and maybe a little sloppy, but it held together and it was the right size and color.

“Go ahead,” Katya said. “Try it.”

Bitty took a bite and spent a moment cataloguing the taste.

“This is my recipe,” he said. “Or at least I think it is. Did you make these?”

“Not me,” Katya said. “One of my students. A girl named Audrey. I told her to watch some videos of you, to get an idea of how to really perform — not just skate. She apparently found your baking videos, too, and she keeps bringing in baked goods now.”

“You can tell her she did a good job with these,” Bitty said. “I can tell she worked hard.”

“That’s her problem, yes?” Katya said. “When she skates, you can tell she works hard. Apparently, when she bakes, you can tell she works hard. What I wanted her to learn from you was how to show the joy, not the work.”

“Skating or baking?” Bitty said.

“Both, I think, but I worry more about the skating,” Katya said. “When you skated in competition, you smiled, you laughed, you looked alive. If you had continued, you would be one of the skaters with the audience in the palm of your hand, always cheering for you, no matter what the judging says. After everything in Providence, I looked up your baking videos, not to bake, just to see you. I saw the same smile, even when I can tell you weren’t always happy with everything. You were happy to make something good, and happy to share how to do it.”

“But it is hard work,” Bitty said.

“Skating or baking?” Katya said with a smirk.

“Both,” Bitty said.

“And who says hard work doesn’t make you happy?” Katya said. “It can be both. If it makes you happy, you work harder. But Audrey — she wants to win too much. She wants praise too much. The skating, the baking — she’s not happy unless she wins.”

“It can be hard to be happy when you lose,” Bitty said.

“Maybe,” Katya said. “Maybe the secret is not letting other people decide that, yes? Not leave it up to them if you win or lose.”

“Maybe,” Bitty said.

“How long since you skated?” Katya asked Bitty.

“In figure skates? Months, probably,” Bitty said.

“Can you put on skates and meet my novices? They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Um, I guess so?” Bitty said. “If you can find skates that fit.”

“Of course I can.”

* * *

Jack groaned as he let himself fall onto the bench in front of his locker stall. Three games in five nights, in a time zone three hours behind Providence, and he was feeling it.

The loss tonight — by one goal, after they’d been down by three — didn’t help.

“How bad’s the leg?” Thirdy asked. “Doing okay?”

“It’s fi —” Jack started to say, then caught himself. “It’s not any worse.”

“Too bad he can’t have Bitty kiss it and make it better.”

“Shut up, Fitz.”

Jack looked up. Tater was standing in front of Fitz, glaring.

“Come on,” Poots jumped in. “Must be nice to always have something sweet in the house.”

“No jokes about B,” Tater said. “If anyone could make it better, he could.”

“Yeah,” Thirdy jumped in. “We wouldn’t make fun of your girlfriends. If either of you had one.”

“That’s enough,” Marty said. “Fitz, Poots, cut it out. We’re on a plane in two hours, so let’s get moving.”

Jack dressed and checked his phone; there was nothing since a string of texts he and Bitty had exchanged before the game.

That didn’t really mean anything. It was after one in the morning on the East Coast, and even flying out just after the game, the team wouldn’t be getting off the plane in Providence until the sun was coming up.

It would be good to drag himself home and crawl into his own bed, with nothing scheduled until an optional morning skate the following day.

It would be better if Bitty was there.

Jack couldn’t blame him for going to Georgia, though. Every time they’d talked the last couple of days, Bitty seemed a little more cheerful, a little more like himself. He told Jack the trip was helping him remember who he used to be.

“It’s not like I can go back to that,” Bitty said in their last conversation. “Or that I even want to. But spending time with people who believed in me when I really never gave them any reason to — it’s been good. Better than sitting on the couch and watching terrible TV.”

“I believe in you,” Jack said. “And I have plenty of reasons.”

“That‘s sweet of you to say, Jack,” Bitty said.

“I mean it,” Jack said. “I’ve believed in you for years. I wish I’d said that before, when you were at the bakery. They never appreciated you.”

“I thought you thought I was just wasting my time,” Bitty said.

“I kind of did,” Jack said. “Not because what you do isn’t important, or that working in a bakery is beneath you or anything. Just, people should listen to you. And you weren’t happy there.”

“Nobody’s happy all the time,” Bitty said. “Sometimes things happen and you just have to get through them. It’s easier if you get help from people who care about you.”

“I know,” Jack said. ”It used to be the team had to help you get through going home to Georgia.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “It’s different now, probably because I never have to go to high school again, or see anyone from high school. And, I guess, I don’t have the team around me now.”

“Everyone still cares —”

“I didn’t say they didn’t care, sweet pea,” Bitty said. “But we’re not together now, not like when we were a team.”

 _I’m your team,_ Jack wanted to say, but it was too corny, even for him.

“Sometimes I miss it,” Bitty continued. “It’s different for you. You still have a team.”

“Euh,” Jack said. “The Falcs are great, but it’s not the same.”


	3. Part 3

Bitty let himself into the condo and breathed in the empty air.

It wasn’t exactly as he left it six days ago — his note wasn’t on the counter, for one thing, and there was a basket of clean clothes in front of the dryer.

He noticed more changes as he looked around. Not only was the laundry room door open, so was the front closet. It didn’t look like the cleaners had been in. Was Jack in that much of a hurry to grab his coat when he left that he couldn’t close the closet door?

The dish drainer held a coffee cup, a plate and a water glass. So Jack had breakfast here before he left and washed his dishes. He always hated using the dishwasher for just a few things, but he wouldn’t leave them dirty, either.

Bitty made his way to the bedroom, planning to put his clothes away — at least Mama had sent him home with clean laundry — and shower before bed. But it was late and he was tired after flying home and driving from Logan to Providence.

Maybe just a shower?

He dug through his duffel for clean underwear and a T-shirt before stepping under the spray in the shower stall, and yes, this was one part of life in Providence that was definitely better than Madison. The master bathroom in Jack’s apartment had always been nice (clean, too, which was an improvement over the Haus), but after Bitty moved in, Jack had enlarged and upgraded the shower stall. It actually had two shower heads, so they could shower together without one standing under the spray and the other freezing, and both showerheads had multiple settings. Bitty turned on the heated towel rack so that he would have a warm towel when he was done and set the shower to feel like a gentle rain.

Even not counting Jack, Providence had a lot to recommend itself over Madison. Starting with, he didn’t feel like a curiosity as an out gay man. No one in Madison had been outright threatening or even openly mean to him since he and Jack came out, but no one seemed to be able to treat him like a normal person, either. Mama and Coach and MooMaw were fine, of course, and Aunt Judy, and Katya, even if she wasn’t in Madison proper. But folks at the supermarket or post office would follow him with their eyes, like he was about to do something scandalous when he just wanted to buy a couple of lemons or pick up stamps for Mama. Or they gushed, eager to show how progressive they were because they were willing to be seen talking to him.

Mama put it all down to people being starstruck by someone who was celebrity-adjacent, but, well, Mama hadn’t been pushed into lockers by those people’s children.

Providence also had a better food scene, better nightlife (in that it had nightlife, not that Jack indulged much; in Georgia, you’d have to go into Atlanta to find a club), and better job prospects.

And of course, it had Jack. Jack was first on Bitty’s list of reasons to love Providence, reasons to love hockey, reasons to love, period. Jack had been Bitty’s first priority for years now.

Well, maybe not always exactly first. Last year, with SMH in the midst of their playoff run, the task of leading and feeding the team had been pretty high up there.

Then, once hockey ended, Bitty had to wade into his school work, barely keeping his head above the piles of pages he had to read and write in order to earn his degree.

Both those things had been important. Maybe not more important than Jack, and maybe even less important than Jack in Bitty’s long-term plans, but on a day-to-day basis, they were at the top of his to-do list.

Since graduation and moving in here, though, Jack’s position as first in Bitty’s attention as well as his heart had been cemented. He’d taken the job at the bakery to give himself something to do, and to not have to ask Jack for money to go to the market, but even Bitty hadn’t seen it as a career. How could he start a career when Jack might get traded next year?

Even so, he hadn’t known when Jack got hurt. He knew something was wrong, of course. Jack had been surlier than usual for weeks, especially when getting up in the morning, and he was moving more carefully. But Jack never said what was wrong, and Bitty had been afraid to ask.

Well. Something had to change. Bitty dried off, hung his damp towel on the hook and shut off the light.

There was no point in waiting up for Jack. Even though it was after midnight, he wouldn’t be home for hours yet.

Bitty plugged his phone in and crawled into bed. Maybe they could clear some of this up tomorrow.

* * *

Jack pushed the door open and let his eyes adjust to the darkness in the condo. He thought he was alone at first, but then he smelled something. Bitty’s soap. And a hint of humidity. He dropped his bag in front of the laundry room and pushed open the bedroom door.

There was a shaft of light leaking in from the window, barely illuminating Bitty’s sleeping form and turning his golden hair silver.

The swell of love Jack felt was physical, as was the relief that Bitty was here. Jack’s shoulders dropped as he released the tension he’d been trying to pretend didn’t exist, and he couldn’t help the small smile that played on his lips.

Bits was home, in Providence, not in Madison. Until Jack saw him, he hadn’t let himself admit he was worried Bitty wouldn’t come back.

Jack decided his bag could wait until morning (well, later in the morning) and pushed the door further, letting himself in. He toed off his shoes and stripped out of his suit, deciding to forgo even a shower for now.

Bitty didn’t move until Jack slid under the covers behind him. Then, all Bitty did was roll to face him, crack open a sleepy eye and say, “Jack?”

“Yeah, bud, I’m home,” Jack said. “Go back to sleep.”

Jack didn’t stay awake long enough to see whether Bitty followed his advice.

When he woke next, it was full light. He heard music playing in the kitchen and smelled food. There was coffee and something baking for sure, but it also smelled like Bitty had sauteed onions and peppers. There were probably eggs ready to go on as soon as Jack appeared.

He pulled his phone from the nightstand and checked the time. Ten o’clock. Only an hour before he met with the physical therapist.

He’d better move fast if he was going to eat breakfast first.

Ten minutes later, he was showered, towel-dried and dressed in comfortable workout clothes when he slid onto a stool.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Bitty said, dropping slices of his homemade wheat bread in the toaster. “Eggs in a few minutes.”

“I haven’t got much longer,” Jack said. “I’m supposed to see Mari at eleven.”

“They don’t believe in giving you much rest, do they?” Bitty said. 

“No,” Jack said. “But it’s supervised PT and workouts for me until this resolves. Like they can’t trust me to do it on my own.”

He blew a breath out through his nostrils. He knew he sounded frustrated. He _was_ frustrated, but it was his own fault.

When Bitty was silent, Jack went on, “I know, I probably had it coming. I’ll be home some time after. Did you have plans or do you think you’ll be here?”

“I just have some errands to run,” Bitty said. “I can do it while you’re out. Want me to take your suits?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “Thanks.”

“I was thinking I could make dinner for us,” Bitty said. “You okay with that tonight?”

“I’d like that,” Jack said.

“Dessert too?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Whatever you want.”

“You should know better than to say that to me,” Bitty said. “I could make a whole meal out of dessert.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Bitty said. “But I won’t. What time do you think you’ll be home?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack said. “I’ll probably stay for lunch, maybe try to talk to George.”

The fact was, Jack had some groveling to do. Georgia Martin hadn’t summoned him to talk about his injury, but neither had she checked in and offered tea and sympathy, or even chatted about charity or community obligations. Everything had gone through her staff.

Jack hoped he could get the relationship back on its previous easy footing.

“Sounds good,” Bitty said. “I have some stuff to clean up around here.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I, uh, I noticed your clothes were kind of a mess, so I washed them. What happened? I didn’t miss the washer being broken, did I? ‘Cause it worked when I used it.”

“No,” Bitty said. “I guess I just … couldn’t make myself focus on getting anything done. I’ll do better.”

“I’m not upset about that,” Jack said. “But are you really okay? I knew you didn’t like your job, but I didn’t know you were struggling with basic daily tasks.”

Jack did feel like he’d been kind of an idiot, missing what a hard time Bitty was having. He had always been fastidious about his clothes, and he stopped even washing them promptly? And now Jack was talking in clinical terms, not like a loving boyfriend.

Bitty shrugged.

“I will be okay, if I’m not now,” he said. “I don’t blame you for not noticing. You were a little preoccupied yourself.”

“We’ll talk about it tonight,” Jack said.

“You sure?” Bitty said. “You might not feel like it after George.”

“Or maybe I’ll need to talk,” Jack said.

* * *

Bitty took his time cleaning the kitchen after Jack left. He emptied clean dishes from the dishwasher, rinsed and loaded the plates, and scrubbed the pans. He went through the fridge, throwing out anything that had gone out of date or just looked a little too old after both he and Jack spent most of a week away. Then he made a list of the perishables he had to replace, and baking supplies he needed to replenish.

He went to the bedroom and put away all of his clothes — the ones Jack had washed and the clean clothes in his duffel bag. While he was at it, he weeded his drawers, pulling out some old T-shirts to turn into rags and other clothes to donate.

The whole time, he thought about his conversation with Jack that morning, and the conversation to come that night.

Jack said he wasn’t upset about the mess Bitty left in the dresser drawers, but he didn’t say he wasn’t upset at all. Bitty was certain Jack had been angry with him — at least a little — for leaving without saying anything first; his _Call me_ text was uncomfortably similar to the “See me” notes teachers had written on his less-than-stellar essays.

He’d been angry with Jack, too. Jack had kept an injury, not just from the team, but from him. Jack, who acted like it didn’t even matter if Bitty had a job because he could support them both, had kept information that could affect his livelihood from Bitty, like Bitty was a child that had to be protected and coddled.

What kind of partnership did he think they had?

If Jack decided to give Bitty a piece of his mind tonight, Bitty would give him one right back, he decided. Coach told him he needed to speak up, so he would.

And then … then he was going to tell Jack that he didn’t intend on looking for another job just yet. He’d had an idea in Madison, an idea that might not work, but it might, and he’d never know unless he tried. Or at least he’d do some research, which was going to be more time he’d be living entirely on Jack’s dime.

At least he didn’t doubt Jack when he said he’d pay for Bitty to fly down to see MooMaw more often; MooMaw was one of Jack’s favorite people in the world.

Jack was one of Bitty’s favorite people too, and he’d been hurting for weeks, and never said a word. Bitty was still angry, but he was also sad that Jack felt like he had to go through that with no support.

Bitty bagged up the clothes he meant to donate and grabbed Jack’s dirty suits and the grocery bags from the hook in the kitchen. Stewing about tonight’s conversation wasn’t going to help anything.

He’d left his old clothes in the donation bin, dropped off Jack’s dirty suits and picked up the clean ones, and was between the meat and fish counters at the supermarket dithering over whether to make herb-crusted salmon or to go with the comfort food of steak and potatoes when his phone buzzed with a text from Jack.

_Gabby is going to be at the game Sunday with the girls. Marty asked if you want to join them._

That could be fun. There’d be the game to watch, of course, but also Gabby to chat with and the little girls to play with in intermissions and after the game.

He texted back a _Sounds good_ and settled on the steak, maybe with roasted potatoes and a red wine sauce. Comfort food.

And a maple-apple pie to go with it: a peace offering of sorts.

* * *

Jack groaned when Mari repositioned his knee again.

“No cheating,” she told him. “Do it again.”

When he finished running through his exercises, Mari took the resistance band he’d been using and hung it up.

“You’ve made progress,” she said. “As long as you keep it up, you can do these stretches and exercises on your own. How does it feel after you skate?”

“Sore,” Jack said. “But not as bad as before, I guess?”

“That’s good,” Mari said. “We need to keep reinforcing good habits, right? You need to pay attention to your form when you skate so you don’t favor the injured side. Doing that is just going to screw with all your mechanics and you’ll end up getting hurt again.”

“I know,” Jack said.

“And if it gets tweaked again, you’re going to say something right away?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” Mari said. “I have to talk to Kevin, but plan to check in with me early next week so we can do another assessment. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing.”

That was better than Jack expected.

Marty was also there for lunch, so Jack sat down with his plate of chicken and roasted vegetables.

“What are you doing here?” Marty said. “There’s nothing going on this afternoon. Go home. Get some rest. See your boy. Or is he still away?”

“No, he’s back,” Jack said. “We’re having dinner tonight.”

“Date night?” Marty said. “I guess every night is date night when you don’t have kids.”

“Yeah, sort of,” Jack said. “About tonight. And no, not every night is like a date night. Sometimes we eat and go do our own things. Like I’ll watch tape or something.”

Bitty used to do homework or bake on those nights, but now that he was out of school — and not baking as often — Jack realized he wasn’t really sure what Bitty did once the kitchen was clean.

Marty ate quietly for a moment, then said, “Is Bitty coming to the game Sunday?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“Gabby was gonna bring the girls since it’s a matinee. I’m sure she’d love to hang out with him.”

“I can ask him,” Jack said, pulling his phone out to text Bitty.

“She really likes him,” Marty said. “And the girls love him. Enough to make a guy jealous.”

Jack shrugged.

“He’s a likable guy,” Jack said. 

Bitty was likable as well as lovable. He had a way of drawing people to himself, making them feel warm and comfortable and cared for. If Jack was honest, that was one of the things that turned Jack against Bitty at first. The whole team had adopted this frog who couldn’t even square up to take a hit, and Jack found himself at odds with the first real friends he’d ever had.

He’d decided Bitty needed to learn a lesson — how to take a hit, he’d hoped, but he would have been okay with Bitty deciding he wasn’t cut out for hockey after all — and Bitty had ended up working his magic on Jack as well. When they were together, Jack didn’t feel like it had to be him against the world all the time. He could relax and enjoy his time with Bitty and not feel like the world was going to end while he wasn’t looking. 

Those mornings with Bitty had turned into a gift for Jack, which turned into a friendship and finally love. But somewhere along the way, Jack’s time with Bitty began to feel less like a gift and more like just the way it was.

“Jack?” Marty was talking to him.

“Sorry,” Jack said. “Thinking.”

“Yeah,” Marty said. “I just said I’m pretty sure George is in her office if you want to see her. Not asking for a trade, are you?”

“Haha.”

When Jack arrived at George’s door, she was at her desk, frowning at something on her computer.

He knocked on the door jamb. The frown did not leave George’s face when she looked up.

“Jack.”

“Hi, George. You have a minute?”

“Yes, but not much more,” George said. “What’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to apologize for not telling the coaches or trainers when I hurt my groin.”

George nodded.

“How is it now?”

“It doesn’t hurt as much, and Mari says it’s improving.”

“Good,” George said. “That’s what Kevin told me earlier today.”

“I know I should have said something before —”

“Before you got called out on it?” George said. “Because you never came to the coaches. You got caught trying to hide an injury.”

“Yes,” Jack said. 

“From the team which has made a sizable financial investment in you,” George said. “To put it bluntly, we need to be able to take care of that investment, and we can’t if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Which was fine until the team decided he wasn’t worth his cap hit anymore and tried to dump his salary by trading him, but that was the way the business worked.

“More than that,” George continued, more gently, “you and I are friends, Jack. If you’re going through something, you can come to me.”

“My agent wouldn’t say that,” Jack said.

“Maybe not,” George acknowledged. “But I’ve always had your back here, haven’t I?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Jack said. “Not Bitty, not my dad. Not my therapist. I just didn’t want to let anyone down.”

“Injuries happen, Jack,” George said. “They’re part of the game. And if this is the worst injury you have in your career, you’ll be mighty lucky.”

“No, I know,” Jack said. “But it seemed so minor, you know? Papa always talked about guys playing hurt and how tough they were, and —“

“You didn’t want the team to see you as weak?” George asked. “No one does. But you would have gotten better faster if you told us. And probably wouldn’t have worried as much if you told Eric and your parents.”

“I know,” Jack said.

“Good,” George said, and smiled for the first time. “You’re still our leading scorer. Don’t worry about letting anyone down.”

* * *

Bitty returned from the market and hung Jack’s clean suits in his closet. Then he unloaded the groceries and formulated a plan of attack.

He should do the pie first, obviously, because it would take the longest to bake and would also need time to cool before it was ready to eat.

Bitty set himself once again to making maple sugar from the good syrup, heating and watching the temperature and, just at the right time, taking the pan off the heat and stirring and waiting for the moment it would crystallize. 

Normally he had maple sugar on hand in the kitchen here; it was much easier to find in the gourmet markets in the Northeast than in the South. But he had run out and Bitty’s regular supermarket didn’t carry it. It was cheaper to make his own, anyway.

He made a big batch, using a whole bottle of maple syrup. Once that was done, he made dough for the crust, put it in to chill, and peeled and sliced his apples.

He added a little lemon and cinnamon and laced them with more maple syrup, then he rolled out the crust, fitted it in the pan, and added the apples. He put the top crust on, cut slits to vent the steam, then added an egg wash and sprinkled it liberally with maple sugar.

Once the pie was in the oven, Bitty fetched his laptop to start doing some research. Baking with MooMaw had gone a long way toward reminding him why he loved baking; finding his hand pies (or hand pies made with his recipe) in Katya’s office reminded him that he liked to share that knowledge.

He clearly wasn’t cut out to be a bakery employee, and even if he had the money to start his own bakery, he didn’t think he wanted that kind of day-in, day-out responsibility, or those kinds of hours. Not now, at least.

But if he baked — if he taught people to bake — in their homes, or in rented spaces at special events, he wouldn’t have to work the same hours every day. He wouldn’t even work at the same place every day. He could tailor the recipes to the skill level and taste of his clients, so he certainly wouldn’t be making the same recipe over and over again, with no variations. It would be kind of like doing his vlog, but teaching a real person or people instead of hoped-for viewers. Kind of like teaching Jack to make a pie, except without the butterflies and sense of dread that his crush wouldn’t end well. 

Poking around online didn’t turn up anyone else doing that, at least not in Providence or Boston. It could probably work.

He’d have to find customers somehow. Word of mouth was best, that’s what Mama always said, but it would take some time to develop. And he’d have to buy supplies, new equipment — a stand mixer would be heavy, so maybe a cart? Maybe he could even get a portable oven, because you never knew how hot people’s home ovens were. Then he could do classes at parks and schools that didn’t have ovens, too.

He could get aprons made with his business name — “Baking with Bitty” sounded good, if not very creative — and wear them when he worked. If he set his rates high enough (and could buy aprons cheaply enough) he could give them away to his customers.

First he would have to talk to Jack about it. He was pretty sure Jack would like the idea, and as Coach said, he should take advantage of the fact that he wouldn’t have to work another minimum-wage job while he tried to get this off the ground.

Bitty closed his computer and reached for the potatoes. He had vegetables to prep, but his business (business idea?) was something to think about while he did it. 

* * *

Jack didn’t even know when their conversation turned into an argument.

He arrived home finally feeling a little hopeful. His groin was improving, he was pretty sure George had forgiven him, and Bitty was in the kitchen making something delicious instead of a thousand miles away.

They sat down to dinner — lean sirloin steak finished in the oven with a red wine sauce and roasted vegetables, better than anything a restaurant would make and not far off Jack’s diet plan — and Jack dug in happily.

“This is delicious, Bits,” he said. “Really good.”

“Thanks,” Bitty said. “I did the grocery run and the dry cleaner’s, too. Your suits are in the closet. How’d your day go? Did you get to talk to George?”

“Mari said the PT is working,” Jack said. “And I can do the exercises mostly on my own now, so I won’t have a set time to go in every day. George is fine. She was kind of upset with me, but I think we cleared the air. It was good.”

“You were worried about that this morning,” Bitty said.

“Yeah, yeah I was,” Jack said. “It was good to have this dinner to look forward to. Maybe we can do this more often now that you’re not working at that bakery.”

That was probably his first mistake, he realized later.

“You mean I’ll have more time to cook and run your errands now that I’m unemployed?” Bitty said.

“No,” Jack backtracked, “Just that you’ll have more time — for whatever — now that you don’t have to go to a job you hate.”

“For whatever,” Bitty said, looking at the food on the table.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “You know you don’t have to work at all, right?”

“I think I do,” Bitty said. “Have to work, I mean.”

Jack really should have heeded the warning in the determined set of Bitty’s chin. 

“I don’t care if you don’t have a job,” Jack said, not recognizing the danger. “It’ll be easier to spend time together, especially with my schedule being so crazy. We really should do this more often.”

“You mean I should spend more days running your errands and cooking for you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jack said. “You always tell me you like to cook. Why are you mad at me now?”

Bitty looked down at his plate, and Jack remembered that Bitty didn’t even like steak much.

“Because everything is about you, and I need something to be about me,” Bitty said.

“I care about you,” Jack said. “I love you, and I just want you to be happy.”

“And you think that’s enough, and I thought that was enough, but it isn’t,” Bitty said. He set down his fork and sat back away from the table. “I mean, you say I’m important to you, but it’s not like you really have to count on me for anything. Even cooking and errands. You could pay someone to deliver your dry cleaning and get a meal service. I think I just need to be important, to have it matter to someone whether I’m there or not. And even though it was boring and sometimes I hated it, I had that at the bakery. Karen noticed if I wasn’t there.”

Jack also straightened up, mirroring Bitty.

“I noticed when you went to Madison,” he protested.

“I know you did, sweet pea, and I have to admit I was maybe glad you seemed a little mad at me,” Bitty said, now looking at the napkin in his lap. “I know that’s childish, running to my old bedroom and slamming the door like that.”

“I don’t get it, Bits,” Jack said, almost pleading. “How could you ever think I wouldn’t notice if you weren’t here? Of course you’re important to me. You’re so important that I risked my career, I came out —”

“You came out for me? Then that was a mistake,” Bitty said, his voice almost steely. “I was under the impression you came out for you, or maybe for us. Maybe a little bit for all the queer kids wondering if they should stay in hockey. But if you didn’t do it because you thought it was good for you, then you shouldn’t have. Don’t you dare blame that on me.”

“Come on, Bitty,” Jack said, hating how defensive he sounded. “You know we didn’t really think it through. It was a heat-of-the-moment thing that just felt right. I’ve never regretted it.”

“Are you sure about that?” Bitty said, finally looking up. “Are you sure this whole thing —” Bitty waved his hand in the air between himself and Jack “ — is something you really want? Or are you stuck with me because it happened in the heat of the moment and just felt right? Because I feel like if you met me now, you probably wouldn’t like me, wouldn’t even want to know me, let alone date me.”

Then he returned his attention to his plate, picking up his knife and fork and cutting his steak into tiny pieces, but not eating them.

“Bits, stop,” Jack said. “Look at me. That’s not fair. I know I’ve been moody, and I know I’ve been preoccupied, but that’s on me, not you. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“It does if I’m your partner,” Bitty said, looking up again. “Especially if you’re telling me not to even worry about working. That makes your career the family business, or would if we were a family. If you see me as a partner in that business, then I need to know what’s going on in it.”

“The head of a business doesn’t share everything with everyone involved,” Jack said, despite feeling like he wasn’t in control of anything here, whether it was his career or this conversation.

“Not with the employees, no,” Bitty said. “But I guess I was hoping I was more of an equal, at least within the walls of this home. I’ll clear up now.”

Bitty stood and picked up the half-full plates from the table. He dumped the uneaten food in the trash and took the plates to the sink before Jack stood up.

“Bits, wait,” Jack said. “Stop with the dishes. Stop acting like it’s your job to do them.”

“Why?” Bitty said. “They have to get done, and your leg is bothering you.”

“It’s a little sore after PT,” Jack acknowledged. “But that’s not the point. I know I made a mistake in not telling you about my injury.”

“ _A_ mistake?” Bitty said, incredulous. “One mistake? How long did it hurt? How many chances did you have to tell me?”

“I know,” Jack admitted. “But after a while I felt stupid for not saying anything earlier. And it wasn’t just you I didn’t tell. I should have told the team. I should have told George. Crisse, I should have told Papa so he could tell me to get my head out of my ass. But I didn’t, and that’s on me, and I’m sorry. Part of it’s my anxiety. Every time I thought about being injured, I kept spiralling, thinking it was the beginning of the end of my career, and I wasted so much time by not making the draft …”

“Time when you met me.”

“Yes, and time when I grew up a lot and mostly learned to cope with my life,” Jack said. “Not perfectly, obviously.”

When Bitty looked like he was about to speak, Jack put a hand up.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me finish. I love you, and I have loved you for a long time. I’m sorry you were so unhappy, and I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out — can’t figure out — how to make it better. I didn’t know why you insisted on keeping that job when it was so obvious you hated it. But this whole situation … it’s not fair to say it’s just my fault, Bits. You need to talk to me about what’s going on with you, not just about, I don’t know, dinner and dry cleaning.

“You’re right, I could pay someone to do all that. I still can. I can pay someone to do it for both of us. It just seemed like you enjoyed that stuff. The cooking and everything. But that’s not why I want you around. I want to take care of you, but I can only do that if you let me. I want to let you take care of me, too. And like I said, I know I messed up, and I want to try to do better. But I need for you to be honest with me too.”

Jack finished by picking up the water glasses and utensils and carrying them to the sink.

“You should rest that leg if it hurts,” Bitty said.

“It’s good to move around,” Jack said. “So it doesn’t tighten up.”

“Suit yourself,” Bitty said, running water over the plates before putting them in the dishwasher.

His back was still to Jack when he said, “You’re right.”

“About what?”

Bitty turned to take the utensils from Jack and said, “I thought that when I graduated and moved in here, everything would be easy. Peaches and cream. And when it wasn’t, I didn’t know how to say anything without making it sound like it was your fault for being, well, you, and playing professional hockey and making millions of dollars. Which I absolutely want you to keep doing, before you get any crazy ideas. But I didn’t realize how small that could make me feel in comparison.”

“There is no comparison,” Jack said.

“I’m pretty sure you mean that the good way,” Bitty said, snorting. “And not that I’m so insignificant even trying to compare would be silly.”

“Not what I meant at all,” Jack said. 

“Anyway, I think I need to work on believing that, at least in the eyes of us, of you and me, both of us are important.”

“We are,” Jack said. “Always.”

“And we both need to learn to talk about stuff, even when it’s hard,” Bitty said. “That’s what Coach said, at least.”

“You talked to your dad about this?” Jack asked. “I remember when you only talked to your dad about football.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been trying,” Bitty said. “And he and Mama have been married a long time. They survived raising me. Stands to reason he’d have some good advice.”

“Maman told me that I should look at things from your perspective, see that you’re in a difficult position,” Jack said. “She’s right, and you’re right. I thought I could make everything easier for you by just taking care of all the money stuff. But it’s not that easy.”

“No,” Bitty said. “It would be easier if we were in this together. I mean, we are, but it’s not like you can commiserate with me about online applications and updating a resume.”

“And you’re not going to lose your ability to bake with one bad hit or awkward fall,” Jack said. “If baking is what you want to do.”

“About that,” Bitty said, taking the pie from the counter and setting it on the table. “I had an idea when I was in Georgia, but it would mean I probably won’t make much money for a while. I mean, I’m pretty sure you’d be okay with that, but …”

“If you’re good with it, so am I,” Jack said, bringing dessert plates and forks. “Tell me about it.”

* * *

Once Bitty started talking about his plan, the conversation went better than Bitty had even hoped for.

Part of him thought Jack would be enthusiastic about anything that didn’t involve Bitty yelling at him at that point. Not that he actually yelled — it would go against years of home training to raise his voice at the table — but he had been speaking forcefully. Some of what he’d said surprised him, but everything he said about how he felt was true.

After he explained his idea — he wasn’t even sure he could call it a plan — Jack had suggested he reach out to his agent, ask who Bitty should go to for advice on starting a business. 

“He’d do that?” Bitty asked.

“He gets ten percent of what I make,” Jack said. “His job is to give me advice. I mean, yes, if he sets you up with a lawyer or consultant, we’ll have to pay that person, but we can do that to make sure everything is legal. But if you do this, and you hate it, you know you can quit, right? You’ll figure something else out. My respect for you … It’s not based on what you do. It’s based on who you are, and that doesn’t depend on your job.”

“It’s not so much that I need you to respect me as I need to respect myself,” Bitty told Jack. “Sometimes I think I put other people first just so I don’t have to think about what I want.”

“You do do that,” Jack said. “I’ve seen you do it, not just with me, but I could do better at calling you out on it.”

“And I could do better at asking what’s up with you when I know something’s wrong,” Bitty said. “I knew there was a problem, but I didn’t want it to be me.”

“Not ever,” Jack said. “And if you want to get this business off the ground, I’m behind you all the way.”

Jack had gotten up and taken the dessert plates to the sink.

“I can get those,” Bitty said.

“No, I have them,” Jack said. “Not your job, remember?”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “I’ll sit back and enjoy the view.”

He sat back and watched Jack, let his eyes drift down to Jack’s legendary backside, and tried to remember the last time they’d gotten a little naughty. They hadn’t stopped having sex, exactly, but over the past few weeks, it had been more mechanical than anything. Pleasant, but not mind-blowing. Of course, if Jack’s groin hurt … but Jack could stand to do the dishes, so maybe he could stand for other things.

Bitty got up and snuggled against Jack’s back. “Do you know how sexy you look from behind?” he said while Jack washed the last of the dishes. “Turn around and I’ll even defile my kitchen for you. You can lean against the counter.” 

He dropped to his knees right there.

After a few minutes, Jack pulled him up and tugged him toward the bedroom. When they were done and cleaned up, Bitty curled up against Jack’s side, his head on Jack’s shoulder.

“You have to know how important you are to me,” Jack said. “I don’t tell you enough. WIth me, you always come first.”

Bitty picked up his head to look at Jack.

“Not tonight I didn’t.”

That led to the kind of belly laugh he rarely heard from Jack. 

“Next time,” Jack said.

On Sunday, Bitty dropped Jack at the arena then came home to make cookies for Marty and Gabby’s girls. After the game started, he settled back in his seat and soaked it all in. Gabby was next to him, just as into the game as he was. Noelle and Elisabeth St. Martin sat in front of them in the box, dividing their attention between the players on the ice and the cookies.

“I was so glad when Sebastien said you were back and coming today,” Gabby said. “He said you went to visit your parents while the team was traveling. Otherwise I would have invited you for dinner.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of you,” Bitty said. “You just let me know when you want me to come over, and I’ll bring dinner. If you want, I’ll even teach them to bake something.”

“You could teach me too, while you’re at it,” Gabby said. “It’s not a skill I ever perfected.”

“Of course,” Bitty said. “Actually, I’m thinking about starting a business teaching people to bake. You three could be a trial run.”

“Ooh, sounds fun,” Gabby said. “Let me know how much you charge.”

“I didn’t mean you’d have to pay! Just give me some feedback.”

“Fine, but I probably know some people who might be interested.”

“That would be great,” Bitty said. “Jack said he would mention it to Georgia in case the Falcs can do anything. But really, I haven’t even gotten close to coming up with a pricing structure yet. I’m still trying to figure out if it would work.”

The game was tied heading into the third, but the Falcs had been playing well. The little girls were loyally cheering for the whole team, but they yelled “Daddy!” and “Mr. Jack!” the loudest.

Their yells reached an eardrum-piercing volume as Jack carried the puck into the zone, passed it to Marty, and then skated to the bottom of the circle to get it back and one-time it into the net.

Bitty joined the crowd in jumping to his feet, stomping and clapping.

This might be a fairy tale life after all.


End file.
